


i tried to explain the good faith that's been wasted (but after an hour it sounds like complaining)

by Flightstorm9



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Dream SMP references, Gen, Guilt, Homeless Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Minecraft manhunt references, Moral Ambiguity, Oneshot, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Main character, With A Twist, but like mildly, okay but dream is just a florida man give him a break, omg that's actually a tag, pfft i am dying, wait a sec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29137149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flightstorm9/pseuds/Flightstorm9
Summary: Dream’s always been good at running, both literally and metaphorically.There’s a hundred forms of escape and telling a lie is one. Denying a truth is another. Fleeing your past - well.Dream’s done all these things and more. It’s easier to hide when everything around you is false, when your own face is fake and everyone around you are just puppets on strings. When people just assume everything you say is the truth because they don’t know better, and you can’t shatter the facade because you know what it will do.Youknowbut you’ll never know again because it’s too late for you.And Dream can lie all he wants but now, stuck in a prison with no form of escape left, he’s finally forced to stop running.Or is he?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 221





	i tried to explain the good faith that's been wasted (but after an hour it sounds like complaining)

**Author's Note:**

> i swear i'm working on my other fics but i'm moving apartments this week so i thought i'd upload this instead
> 
> anyways i think there are veryyyy mild suicidal thoughts in here? but like barely. feel free to scold me in the comments if i should change the rating or anything lol
> 
> title is from Karma by AJR. thanks for clicking, enjoy!

He doesn’t know when it started.

That’s a lie - or a half-truth, maybe. 

Oh, sure, it blurs together sometimes, but he _does_ remember. It was gradual, at first. But it was there.

Small things, at first. Little white lies, deflections, hiding to avoid tough conversations. Drista was his favorite sister because she never forced him into having deep little ‘heart-to-hearts’ like his parents, was his favorite sister because she always let him have his flighty ways.

(Maybe he should blame his parents more, but Dream hardly remembers their faces - not like he remembers his own. He supposes you don’t need a face to be blamed, really.)

His parents wanted him to settle, but Dream is vibrating out of his own skin and flesh and bones and he wants _out_ , out into the wide wide world unexplored because he’s always wanted to be _free_. Staying still is so suffocating.

His parents want him to stay, but Dream has never known how.

So Dream leaves behind his homeworld and he goes. He goes out and he learns how to run and fight and hide, how to escape because it’s _such_ a beautiful art form. He raids villages, steals hay bales, kills dragons because he can get away with it all and it’s _fun_. He’s a karma houdini and he’s living the _life,_ is constantly high on fight-or-flight induced adrenaline and leaves in his wake bodies and bruises and destruction he always denies.

 _I freed the End,_ he says, and it’s _true_ , he’s good at what he does, _what more do you want from me?_

He relishes in the chaos and hightails it out of there as soon as the consequences swoop in, because Dream doesn’t know how to _stay_ and _face it all_ and he doesn’t want to learn how, has never wanted to learn how.

Maybe that means he’s a terrible person - but it’s fine, it doesn’t matter anyways. Consequences don’t exist if they never catch up to you.

People start to whisper of him and his face is put up on wanted posters, a bounty is set up for his head. There’s no name, they don’t know his name, but there’s a face and for most people that’s enough. He’s not a good person and if he were he’d probably shrivel away and die from guilt when he learned, would stop his destructive ways and solemnly swear to live a peaceful life, a good life, a good _lie_ but Dream can’t stop running. He’s forgotten how.

He resolves to wear a mask, instead, a stupid smiley mask that he paints himself and decides is good enough and enchants with _Binding_ \- maybe a dumb move, rather extra but hey, he’s long since lost anything he had of his old life. He hasn’t talked with Drista in months, has forgotten what his parents’ scoldings even sound like. Might as well as do it, he has nothing left to lose. 

No one wears a mask without something to hide - and he’s got everything to hide. 

Might as well as embrace it.

He dons the mask and becomes Dream the Speedrunner, an officially recognised title for a dragonslayer by most world laws. Villages are actually _required_ to help him now, all he has to do is flash the badge and they have to supply him with food, weapons, armor, supplies. It feels almost like cheating, a little _too_ easy but what the hell, whatever. The rush of power he gets when he shows the glinting thing, golden and shield-shaped and it’s so _addicting,_ watching the Village Ambassador’s face shift into something like fear-riddled resignation and direct Dream towards the nearest blacksmith for gear and maybe even a little gold.

With the political immunity of the position, Dream can blow up village houses all he wants ~~abuse his power~~ , and they can’t even do anything about it. It’s _amazing._

Dream thinks he might be becoming a little _too_ addicted to chaos, but whatever.

During one of his world runs he meets Sapnap - a teen about his age with a similar inclination for chaos, except leaning more towards an arsonist profile. Dream briefly entertains the idea of letting Sapnap tag along with him - the guy could use a little help being shown how to escape, he always just _lingered_ after at a crime scene, staring all entranced-like and hypnotized at the dying embers, obviously painting himself as the one who had _literally_ committed arson - what an idiot. He wasn’t even a _real_ criminal, real criminals didn’t fucking _stick around_ the scene like _dolts_ \- but whatever, it wasn’t Dream’s issue. He had his own problems to deal with, had no time to drag a budding pyromantic along. Sure, he loved chaos, but with arson it took _way_ too long to cover your tracks - plus, all Sapnap would manage to do was slow him down, with how crappy he was at keeping up with Dream’s flashfire pace.

“I’ll catch up to you one day,” Sapnap vows, playfully shaking his fist at Dream, and he can’t help but grin at it all. The headband-wearing arsonist is framed by the roaring fire in the distance, casting leaping shadows across the two of them, standing in the ruins of a village that had let them stay just a little too long. Dream would scold the guy for having an identifying signature on his profile, but then he’d be a hypocrite.

All in all, it makes for a delicious scene, almost movie-like in its melodrama. 

“I look forward to it,” Dream says with a resolute nod, smiling under his mask, and it’s the first truth he’s told in a long, long time.

-

Dream isn’t even speedrunning when he meets George. 

George - or rather, his official Admin name, GeorgeNotFound. A known Admin on the world known as MunchyMC.

Admins were people skilled in rewriting worlds and the very fabric of reality, itself - a skill anyone could learn, albeit a very difficult one. Dream’s always wanted to learn how, of course, but he has no time - always on the run, on the move, and the trade is notorious for being incredibly hard and time-consuming. Worth it, probably, but Dream just doesn’t have the _time._

Anyways, the correspondence isn’t about that, even - he’s just asking for a small favor, a request for a simple command to make TNT have a larger explosion radius. Y’know, to fuel his destructive tendencies, he’s just having _fun._ Actually, now that he thinks about it, it probably doesn’t even count as a first meeting, seeing as George never even responds to his request. The fucker. Whatever, Dream doesn’t need him anyways.

(Out of spite, Dream puts all of his energy towards training to become an Admin, hyperfixating on it for a good month or so. He doesn’t _need_ anyone else.)

At least he got something out of it, in the end.

-

He meets Bad shortly after his first interaction with George, the world owner immediately striking him as someone _not_ fit for the title of world owner whatsoever. World owners were many things - ruthless, controlling, meticulous, cold-hearted and vicious. And sure, Bad was a demon, but he was _anything_ but mean.

The mistaken assumption is quickly dissolved when Bad mercilessly bans, blocks, and kicks a rogue Admin, some random idiot using their powers wrongfully for hacking. Sure, they deserved it, but man, the guy could be _terrifying_ when he wanted to be. Dream silently resolves to not piss off the cheerful bastard, because he _never_ wants to hear them swear again, even if he pretends he does. Fucking terrifying little… 

Still, they become great friends, with Bad even teaching him a few tricks and tips to being a real, actual, Admin - although Dream is careful to hide the more… _unsavory_ aspects of his life from the world owner. He’s not sure how they’d react to it all, exactly, and he has no desire to find out.

It’s living a lie, maybe, but he’s used to that. He’s _good_ at that.

(he just can’t remember ever feeling so _empty_ about it all.)

-

Dream is growing bored of speedrunning.

He’s learned a lot from it, that’s definitely true - like how to craft portals of purple mist and obsidian from mere buckets of lava and water, how to slay dragons in the space of a heartbeat, how to fight and flee and do parkour like a _champ_ \- but he’s growing a bit restless, almost, that familiar buzzing of _it’s time to try something new_ returning, fizzling hot under his skin and he needs to let it out. It’s time to move on. He’s known this was coming for a long time, it’s always happened before, always - Dream grows bored quickly, hyperfixates and dos and dos and _does_ and then just - stops, grows bored and goes on. He runs and leaps and turns his back on the old, sheds his skin until he can’t tell what parts of him even remain anymore, which parts cling stubbornly and what it means to be _him,_ who is him? - and becomes someone - something - new.

He tries things - new things, things he mildly enjoys and things he doesn’t. Lots of things, good things and bad things and cool things and boring things. All sorts of things, really. He even tries bounty-hunting for a little while - but his stomach does flips whenever he sees his own face on the older, weather-worn poster bulletins, and then there’s a strange sort of sourness rising in his gut that churns and flips and-he-just- _can’t._ Dream doesn’t feel guilt a lot, likes to pretend he has no idea what the word even means but he feels it more and more these days, a slow, sticky sensation freezing his skin and rising - like waters clutching to drag him under, and the half of him that’s so idiotic and _naive_ kind of wants to just - blurt it all out, say all his sins to the whole damn world, but the part of him that’s a hardened criminal shoots it down immediately, mercilessly. He knows better - he _knows_ what they do to criminals. He knows.

(he still remembers when they were - hunting, a griefer notorious for his intricate TNT blast setups, had had him spawn-trapped - executed over and over and over and _over_ again until they’d died for good, soul banished repeatedly to the Void until they didn't dare come back. until they _couldn’t_ come back, lost to the empty and withering cold. until they were just - gone, only living on in the barest flickers of memories like footprints and photos and haunted love that never leaves.

and maybe Dream’s just a little bit afraid of disappearing, because his feet are light as to not leave footsteps and there are no photos of him unless you count the wanted posters, and he has no one to love him and no one ever will.

and he doesn’t want to be _remembered,_ per say, being almost a little scared of how people will think of him, but he just - he doesn’t want to die.

not forever.

not like-)

Dream knows. He knows a lot of things, mostly things he shouldn’t, like what exactly to say to get what you want. Like how to threaten people, how to trip them up and twist their words and use it all against them. He likes to pretend it’s just for survival. He likes to pretend he doesn’t just do it for fun.

Dream pretends a lot. It’s another form of escape, one he enjoys terribly, but one that never lasts for long.

-

Dream goes back to speedrunning because he _does_ love it, even if he is a little bored of the same old thing, but this time decides to change it up a little - and recruits George to hunt him down.

The two of them have talked more since George first ignored him - Dream personally doesn’t care about it, the past is the past after all and he _did_ get some spite-fueled motivation to learn the basics of Admin-ing out of it, although he _is_ admittedly a bit salty. Whatever, he’s _human_ alright, it’s not _his_ fault George’s apology just fills him with vindictive pleasure.

Alright, maybe it’s a sign of bigger problems, but it’s fine, he’ll deal with it later. He has time, he’s got a whole future ahead of him - and if worst comes to worst, well, there’s always the easy way out.

(the easy way out the _coward’s_ way out, and he’s _always_ been such a coward because he can’t even face the roaring creature he’s made _himself_ , formed of half-baked lies and deceit, slobbering and snarling and chasing him down even now, snapping at his heels with nowhere to go but to _follow_ and he has nowhere to go but to _run_ or to stop existing, and the latter’s looking more appealing by the hour

and he’ll never say it aloud because _nobody can know,_ what he’s done what he _is_ he’s a monster. and he’s stuck but it’s _fine,_ all he has to do is keep running, he’ll be okay. he’ll be alright. problems for future him, and he’ll have fun now while he can.

because if he’s got to suffer tomorrow then he’ll do worse shit to _day_ and maybe he’ll get lucky. he’s always been lucky.

it’s not a good thing, sometimes, but it is what it is and Dream can adapt. he _always does-_ )

They decide to only enchant a compass that points always towards Dream that George can use to track him, ban Admin powers as per the rules - all Dream needs to do is get to the End and defeat the dragon, without respawning a single time, meanwhile have fun wrecking shit while doing it. What he’s been doing his whole life, basically.

George becomes a hunter and Dream becomes the prey, though the turns soon table. 

Because Dream knows _exactly_ what it’s like to be the prey, and he’s pretty damn tired of it.

Time to release some pent-up energy.

-

Dream recruits more hunters, ropes in Bad and calls up Sapnap (who’s since caught up to him, the bitch, and is gaining fast). The manhunts are beginning to grow in popularity because of it - one man against three? Wild. Even wilder? The one man actually _winning,_ most of the time. People are beginning to ask them to _film_ it, now, and Dream and the rest decide, what the hell, why not. 

Well, for Bad it’s what the muffin, maybe, but eh, same thing. 

One creative application of Admin powers later and hooray, everyone can watch the hunters make fools out of themselves on the big screen. Quality entertainment, truly-

(he won’t think of the times when they caught him early, beat him up with fists that left bruises on both his body and soul because they didn’t have weapons, took him out early because he wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, _good_ enough. won’t think of that one time he slipped, a dumb stupid mistake because he hadn’t looked where he’d been going, snapped his neck right on the ravine ledge-

-he respawned, he always did, he _lost_ and they all laughed about it afterwards but Dream’s glad his face is covered those times so they can’t see the hot shame rising up and filling every ounce of him, the _failure_ in the weight of his chest so cold and heavy and dead he chokes on it. like he’s a _liar_ because he’s built up this unbreakable aura and there are people out there comparing him to gods, to people like _Technoblade,_ the Blood God himself and he always just laughs it off but it still feels like poison, acid, splashing, over every vulnerable part of him behind the shell. because it’s just a facade.

just a mask.

he hates it, but he doesn’t know how to take it off, both figuratively and literally and metaphorically, and-

-it shouldn’t bother him. he’s been a liar his whole life, hardly ever tells the truth anymore, and it’s just - he should be used to this. this - imposter syndrome, he thinks it’s called, except, he has to wonder sometimes, how, _why,_ when-

-when did the stakes get so high?)

-

Manhunt explodes in popularity, and they end up adding Antfrost to the crew. Dream still manages to outwit them every time, the satisfaction at seeing the slack-jawed awe on their faces singing like _victory-_

(harming splash potions are fucking _broken_ fuck fuck that _hurt_ he can’t believe it he was doing so _well_ he almost _won_ but he _lost_ and how is he going to counter insta-damage? how is he even _supposed_ to? how how how _how it’s not fair_ )

He wins and he wins and he wins (he lost he _lost_ ) and he wins. Dream isn’t a god, is just a common speedrunner elevated to a status near-among them - and it tastes like treachery, that word on his tongue. He’s tempting fate by inviting such attention upon him but he can’t _help_ himself, it’s such a _rush._ It’s so fucking _fun,_ the whole shtick, and he hasn’t gotten bored of it yet.

It tastes like ozone and thunder sweat, like _danger_ stalking his every step, and the thrill is _legendary._ He understands, then, why people want to be famous. Because if he were a weaker man his knees would lock up and shake and tremble but Dream has always lived in the _rush_.

“I’m going to blow up,” he distantly remembers telling George, ages ago - he’d meant in the self-destructive way, that one day he’d go down in a flash and a bang and like a dying star, collapsing in on itself, a supernova of light and heat and inflated ego, finally snapping under the impossible weight of a crudely-drawn smile.

But now, staring out at a crowd still cheering, he thinks he’s made himself a promise. He’s locked himself in.

_Might as well embrace it._

Dream touches the mask on his face, humming with enchantment, and no one else will ever know but he’s smiling underneath.

-

He becomes an actual champion, blank mask and neon-lime hoodie recognised universally as _Dream the PVPer_ , attends tournaments and fights, MCC and shit, kills and revels in the _glory_ of it all, because people are comparing him to the _gods_ and it all feels so _good._

It’s like - validation, for something he doesn’t even deserve - he doesn’t like to think about the last part, though, because he doesn’t like being reminded that - he lies. He lies a lot. He lies when people ask if he has any criminal history during his world travels, when fans ask him about his past, when people try to pry. He deflects and shoots them down and _escapes_ because he’s good at running, he hates karma because it constantly keeps him on his toes, except - he doesn’t-

-he doesn’t deserve a lot of what he has. 

He doesn’t like to think about it.

Except - he _does,_ doesn’t he? He does deserve it - _he_ cultivated all these skills, right, he’s so _good_ at all of it because he _got_ good, through blood and sweat and burning tears - but he hurt people, and he doesn’t - he doesn’t want to think that he’s a bad person but he _has_ been, for a long time.

Right?

Dream wants to - to ask someone. He wants to ask someone if he’s a bad person, wants their honest, real, true opinion of him - but he already knows the answer, right? And he’s afraid of the truth ~~no he’s not~~. He’s _always_ been.

And Dream defeats everyone except his own demons, his own Dreamons, and living this lie is so exhausting, but it’s already gone too far. He can’t turn back now.

(can he?)

-

Dream decides to build a world of his own.

Admins aren’t Gods - they’re something close, maybe, with a will so powerful even the world is forced to bend for them - but ultimately they are merely manipulators, able to shift small things. Barely a ripple on the massive scale of the universe, only able to stretch certain limits. Powerful, but certainly not enough.

Dream’s an Admin, now. He creates a world.

For once, he doesn’t think about karma and retribution and his Dreamons, ever chasing. For once he doesn’t think about how if he stays, he’ll surely be bitten right in the back by his own failures and shortcomings. He’s not meant to settle, but-

He’s going to be a different kind of Admin, he promises himself. This is going to be a good world, a world where he and just his friends can just - lay low, relax a little, maybe have some fun. Dream can't ever seem to stick in one place, is too restless for that, but maybe just - maybe.

He can try.

It’s exhausting shaping the land, writing and rewriting and breathing life into it all. He’s on bedrest, after, for almost a month after that - pulling that stupid stunt. Bad scolds him, like the mother hen he is, and George and Sap decide to explore. Some friends they are.

(they’re the best they are they really really are he loves them all so much it hurts it burns it-

-he doesn’t deserve them, never has and never will, they don’t deserve _him._ not if they _knew_ -

 _they can’t know,_ he tells himself, it’s not a lie but then why does it feel like one?)

Once Dream is better they build a house, together, right in the heart of it all - a small house, something they decide to call the Community House, and Dream is content, for once. Maybe. He’s not sure what that word means, if he’s being honest.

He invites a few other friends - relatively famous people, with small followings of their own, brought together by a warmth Dream rarely feels. This is nice, Dream thinks, maybe it will last.

He hopes it will last.

(it doesn’t.)

-

Tommy. God _damn, Tommy_.

He’s just so - so _infuriating._

Dream never snaps, because that’s what Tommy _wants,_ but he sure comes close a bunch of times. Tommy is like a - a fire, spreading fast and wild and efficient, eating up all the hard work Dream has done to pull and nudge and push all the pieces together - it’s a fragile thing, the peace on this server, and he can’t - _can’t -_ let it crack. Because once a crack forms more will follow, he _knows_ this and he cannot let it happen. He cannot-

“What the fuck,” he says in disbelief upon hearing the news from Sapnap. “A drug van?”

Dream kind of accidentally declares war. He didn’t mean to, he swears, it just kind of happens.

The sinking feeling in his chest is a chasm yawning wider as his own server tears itself apart, renting and tearing and _oh god oh no stop stop stop STOP-_

-

The Greater Dream SMP emerges victorious.

Dream tries to feel good about it. He tries to have fun, because it’s better than not having anything, better than feeling so empty and hollow and carved-out, inside. Like bile rattling around in the back of his throat and he wants to throw up because everyone on his server is so - so divided. So _unhappy_ even when they pretend they are, when they _lie to his face_ when he asks them-

-it’s okay. It’s fine. They deserve to be allowed to lie, he thinks, he _understands._

He’s been pretending since the day he was born and he’ll be pretending until the day he dies. He _gets_ it.

It just - hurts, all of it, and he just can’t understand why.

So he lets Tommy have his fun, too. They have a bow duel, all fancy and everything, and _everyone_ knows Dream’s a better shot but Tommy can’t - Tommy doesn’t know when to _give up._ Tommy’s an _idiot_ and he knows _nothing,_ doesn’t try to _understand_ anything and it just pisses. Dream. Off. _So. Much._

Dream lets them have their independence, but he takes Tommy’s disks, and he knows with the look in Tommy’s eye that it’s gotten personal, now. Tommy’s mad, too, and maybe, just maybe, a little whisper says at the back of his mind - maybe Dream should try to understand Tommy, too. He’s the adult, here, he’s supposed to be better than just a petty criminal - except he _is_ a petty criminal, has never claimed to be anything else, and he can’t-

He can’t bring himself to care, anymore.

-

Dream is sent an invitation to a duel by a rich, famous benefactor, a well-known philanthropist known only as MrBeast, and he doesn’t know - he doesn’t - he can’t-

-he can’t back down. He _can’t_.

Can he?

He’s up against _Technoblade._ The Blood God, one of the more widely-known gods, having been around longer in the public eye, having lived among humans for a good few centuries - but Dream can do this. He can. Right?

Dream grew up running. He knows how to fight, now, has known how to for a long time - but it still makes something in him cringe away, the idea of facing someone head-on in a public fight - no Admin powers, no god powers, just PVP. Just one against the other, sword and shield and fishing pole, ten battles to the death and back.

There’s a lot riding on this fight. Money, for one. Reputation.

Dream can’t win. He can’t win, he _can’t,_ Techno isn’t like him, isn’t a performer, isn’t someone who pretends. Techno is someone who plans and plots meticulously, someone who is good at PVP and warfare because he’s _good_ at it. Dream is just - Dream just pretends, and he _is_ good maybe but he’s not good enough, he’s not-

Techno is brave. He doesn’t run away, he faces everything head-on, deals with his problems as they come and Dream is just - he lets them chase him. He lets himself be reckless and lie. He pretends.

Techno does not.

And then-

They’re four-to-five, Dream is down one, he _has_ to tie this - he has to - he’s got to get this point, this battle, he can’t be weak, inadequate, has to prove himself, has to be _better-_

His mask shatters against the force of the downswing of the Blood God’s blade, and he falls.

-

Dream loses.

-

He hasn’t felt the air on his face for - how long has it been?

He gasps in harsh, ragged, breaths, he can’t - he reaches up and touches his face, shards of ceramic leaving bloody cuts on his cheeks. He sobs, drags a hand over his face and - shakes, he can’t-

-he doesn’t even care about losing, not anymore. Now he just feels like - a fraud, because the instant the mask is gone he just comes all crumbling down.

The crowds have long since gone away, all the stands empty and the wind howls, kicks dust into his bare face and he coughs, his eyes water, he doesn’t remember the world ever being so bright. The colors are burning and he squeezes his eyelids shut and thinks of wanted posters, of a face he can’t remember, a face he doesn’t own-

Dream’s hands shake and he tries to collect the broken pieces of his soul, lying in shattered ceramic in the dirt, abandoned and so carelessly destroyed like it means _nothing._ Like _he_ means nothing, like he doesn’t-

Dream wipes his eyes, stands up. He’ll be better, he thinks, he can’t be - he won’t be weak anymore. He’ll be better.

He’ll be - he’ll be-

He’ll get better at pretending. He has to.

He repairs the mask with shaking hands and an anvil, draws a glittering sheen of _Unbreakable_ over the cracked porcelain smile, and presses it to his face and lets the _Binding_ take effect.

He swallows the agony and smiles, weak and faltering but it’s there. It’s there.

He’s there.

-

Unbeknownst to him, the Blood God watches under a thin guise of invisibility, just a few feet away.

-

Dream has to be better. Tommy hates him, now, and Tommy is so - so fucking _annoying._ He turns on anyone he can just for the hell of it, is so wild and _unpredictable_ and Dream hates it. Tommy is the variable that is always changing, can’t be determined easily or at all, and it’s like trying to tame a rabid, snarling wolf, that simply _refuses_ your every bone.

Dream hasn’t felt this frustrated in a long, long, time.

So he brainstorms, for a while, the perfect way to make Tommy do as expected for once. He’s creative, he’ll think of something, he always does - that’s the only thing he has left, half the time. His creativity, because if he can’t do things the hard way he’ll do them the convoluted one, the one that requires dodging and flexibility and in general just being an all-around psychopath. He’s always been good at getting in and out of trouble.

It’s slow in coming, but he does eventually begin to notice a pattern in Tommy’s behavior - namely, that Tommy hates him. Tommy will do nearly _anything_ , just to get on his nerves.

Actually, most of the server hates him.

-

It gives him an idea.

-

Schlatt is… an opportunity. An unexpected one, but one nevertheless.

At first, he’ll admit, he’d acted prematurely - banning the man before he could explain himself. In his defense, Dream had panicked - he’d seen _someone he didn’t know_ on his server, the one he’d made just for his friends, the _Dream_ SMP server - and he panicked. A little dumb of him, in hindsight, but that was in the past, now.

But Schlatt came back, with his permission this time, and became a dictator.

Dream wasn’t going to lie - he had absolutely no interest in being a king or anything. Everyone knew he was the real seat of power, anyways - they could call him a tyrant all they wanted, he could brush it off all he wanted, but it was the truth. It was the truth and he was going to have to run with it, exploit it, use it to his advantage.

He’ll admit it was a bit of a fantasy of his. Unrealistic, almost, but the more he looks the _easier_ it is to become the villain. Wilbur and his little fall from grace, and Dream provides him with TNT, unable to say he’s sad to see him go. Schlatt and his all-around dick-ery and Dream decides, what the hell, why not.

He’s the devil Schlatt is making a deal with and he thinks maybe he’s become his Dreamons long ago.

-

Everything blows up.

There's red-blue-white the colors of freedom and he is _flying,_ high on adrenaline and he remembers what it’s like to be alive again. To not have to pretend, just for a moment - to not have to keep moving and just stand still and _admire_ all the chaos going kaboom around him.

It’s intoxicating, his breath short and his grin wild and unhinged beneath his ever-present mask, the world crumbling around him firecrackers in his heart and blisters popping on his skin _he made this world he made it it’s his it’s his it hurts it hurts-_

Dream gasps and screams and yells, free and feral, and it’s freedom, anarchy, people are suffering and dying and he laughs at it all. It hurts so bad. It feels so good.

Dream’s crying. He’s crying under his mask and he reaches up automatically to wipe his tears away but his hand meets cracked porcelain instead, and he remembers-

Dream shuts his eyes and fights the tears and thinks that it’s totally fucking worth it. ~~he’d never do it all again.~~ Of course he would.

-

Tommy can’t stop making _trouble._

Dream is literally so fed up with this kid. He has the _gall_ to just go burn down George’s house, despite all the hot water he's in - okay, that’s it, Dream is _done._ He pulls the strings, cuts and tangles, doesn’t _care_ anymore he’s so _sick_ of this kid. He turns his back for one second and then-

Tommy threatens him.

 _Tommy._ Threatens him.

Dream can’t stop the overpowering roar of rage that just - _crashes,_ and he yells. He shouts. He _screams_ and the world rolls beneath his feet, he is an _Admin._ He is _Dream,_ he is a _god,_ the _owner_ of this world and how fucking dare Tommy he doesn’t care he doesn’t care he _doesn’t care_

(sapnap and george look on in horror and he feels a flash of almost-regret but then it’s gone, _he doesn’t care_ )

Dream might be a monster. But he’s already done so much, gone way too far, and he can’t stop now.

So he makes Tubbo choose. Tubbo, who is just a kid and too young to be president, too young to fight in wars, to have this kind of power. Tubbo, who's too young to _make_ this kind of choice because people are idiots and Dream is so fucking mad. He’s so fucking tired.

It's his server, anyways.

He tries to care, tries to pretend, but it all falls short. Whatever.

It’s not like it matters, in the end.

-

Tommy is so ridiculously easy to twist. Dream thought it’d be harder, with the kid’s stubbornness and all-around iron resolve, but as it turns out, even dripping water chips away at rock. It just has to 

a

l

w

a

y

s

b 

e

t

h

e

r

e;

and Tommy is so easy. He’s so fucking _easy_ and it just pisses off Dream even more because it feels _empty._ Where is the fun? He chose this path for the thrill, the rush, but all he feels is empty and he just - doesn’t know anymore.

It’s empty. He’s empty.

He doesn’t know what he wants. Of course he knows.

Dream traces the cracks of his mask, that ever-present fake smile, and watches Tommy silently suffer with the ghost of what might be a grimace beneath.

It makes him feel better. Maybe he’s a shit man.

He can’t muster anything but vague disinterest at the realization. Whatever.

-

See, Dream realizes he’s a monster. He’s kind of given up on being anything else, because it's starting to feel as though his entire life, he’s simply been casted to be the villain.

And that’s - that’s _fine._ It’s okay. He just - sure, it hurts sometimes, but when doesn’t it?

It’s easier this way, he thinks, to just - stop trying. Stop pretending. Like a breath of fresh air that’s not really fresh at all, that tastes like sickly-sweet poison and rust and metal death.

Like giving up, giving in, and Dream can’t remember the last time he did that, wholly and truly, but - well.

He’s so tired.

-

Dream remembers the first time he killed a dragon.

That’s a lie - he remembers almost none of it, just the rush of adrenaline and his heart thumping so powerfully in his chest that he felt like he might sway off his feet, tip into the Void, remembers screaming, sobbing, driving a diamond sword through scales harder than stone, the splatter of gore on his blade and hands and face-

-he never wanted it on his face again, the acid blood eating away at the flesh. 

He wears a mask partially because of that, because dragon blood burns like a bitch and he fucking hates it all.

He’s killed thousands of dragons since then, been to a hundred thousand worlds and done a million horrible things but it just - never gets any better, never catches up to him, and it just makes him feel worse.

He doesn’t know if he _wants_ karma to come for him or not, because who cares about redemption. He does, ~~of course he does~~. No he doesn’t.

He doesn’t know.

He thinks of wanted posters, faces scribbled over and pages torn-up, because he can’t bear to see his own face. He doesn’t even think he remembers what his face actually looks like, anymore. It’s changed, probably. 

He’s so tired. ~~he’s scared for what happens next~~

So Dream lies to himself like he’s always been doing, reminds himself _I’m too good for them to get me_ and _it’ll be fine it always works out I’ll be_ fine, but, well-

-whatever.

-

“Actually, do you even have a house?”

The question shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did, he knows. But Techno is a god, a real one, has always had that terrifying quality of being able to see right past Dream and his bullshit in a way no one else he knows can. Because Techno knows which parts of him are rotten and fake - all of him - and he always seems so determined to do _something._ Dream doesn’t know what.

He doesn’t know why Techno even bothers. He’s just the villain, after all.

But he supposes, in a way, Techno is a villain, too. Or maybe he’s a victim, Dream doesn’t know. It’s weird to think of Techno - brave, strong, _godly_ Techno - as a victim. Of _humans,_ too.

Dream is human. He doesn’t know if he likes that about himself or not, because it would be easier if he could just blame it all on not being able to understand humanity, on not empathizing properly or some other shit, but-

Dream understands, maybe.

He just doesn’t care enough to do anything about it.

“I have a house.”

There’s a vehemence in his tone of voice but it rings hollow, because Dream doesn’t, not really. Maybe the Community House was - something close, once - but he threw that away, just like everything else in his life, and he doesn’t even know if he regrets it or not.

Sometimes he feels like he does. Other times, he knows he wouldn’t.

Other times, he doesn’t give a shit.

Dream doesn’t have a house. He has no time for such a thing, isn’t someone to settle and stay behind and build, _create._ He is a destroyer, prefers seeing things blow up and crack and come apart than pull together, and maybe that’s why he gave up on this server so quickly. Maybe it just doesn’t matter as much as he thought it would.

Maybe it does, and he’s just a monster.

But karma hisses in his shadow, ever closer, and Dream can feel it approaching - he’s always been able to feel it approaching. It’s easy, really, for him to feel it - it’s _right there,_ hanging on the horizon and closing in and Dream should run. He should go, now, while he still can. He should escape, like he always does.

Dream thinks of this server, wonders if he wants chaos or peace or _what,_ decides that it doesn’t matter what he wants anymore.

So Dream doesn’t run.

-

Everything happens quickly after that - a rapid-fire sequence of events, one after another after another, and it just all - happens, almost too fast for Dream to keep track and yet far too slow for his liking.

One moment he and Tommy are standing over the obsidian grid above the crater that was L’manberg, Tommy calling him a monster, him feeling so empty that he thinks that maybe it’s so damn fun. The next he’s being thrown into his own prison he commissioned Sam for, and he can’t remember what he was thinking at the time other than a swirling pit of self-hatred.

Maybe he deserves this. Maybe he doesn’t. He doesn’t know, really. He isn’t sure if he even cares.

“Bye, Dream,” Tommy says, singsong, and the lava comes down.

It feels like the end of an era, almost. It feels like letting out a breath that he’s been holding, for who-knows how long now.

He reaches up and runs a hand down his bare face, the heat of the lava prickling against his skin, and sighs. Thinks of a cracked mask, of a duel, of wanted posters. Of TNT and gods and Admins, and thinking maybe it doesn’t matter anymore.

Dream doesn’t know if he wants to run anymore.

At least now, the choice was made for him.

-

_/ban TommyInnit_

It’s his server. It’s his it’s his it’s his it’s his his _his_

 _Think about this,_ he tries to tell himself, _calm down, take a deep breath_. Isolation is making him antsy, making him impulsive. He wasn't meant to stay still like this, still _can't,_ and the itching under his skin has become irritation, become resentment. Become _hate_ and hate is dangerous because these are his _friends_

(but friends don't fight wars don't manipulate eachother don't throw eachother in prison don't consider banishment)

His world hums against his hands he is an _admin_ he will have this he will he _will_

(will he?)

He closes his eyes, hand resting against the world interface, communicator flashing and he presses the enter key.

_("if i can’t have this, no one can, Phil-")_

-he’s not a good person, maybe.

He doesn’t give a _fuck._

_TommyInnit was kicked from the server_

_Tubbo: tommy?_

_Tubbo: hello?_

_Tubbo: has anyone seen tommy_

_Tubbo: he just disappeared right in front of my eyes_

_George: wtf_

_George: the server logs say someone banned him_

_Tubbo: wait what_

_Tubbo: who_

_George: i dunno the name is glitched out_

_George: i think it’s in galactic_

_George: does anyone know what this says_

Dream’s chest tightens when an image pops up in the chat. It’s a shot of George’s Admin interface, with him being an operator on the server and everything. Dream had encrypted his own name, of course, but…

_Technoblade: i can read galactic_

_Technoblade: it’s dream_

Dream swallows. This isn’t a home anymore. Honestly, he's not sure if it ever was. 

He looks up, glances around the cell. Black walls greet him, lava bubbling off to one side. A clock, a book, water. A respawn cycle he can’t escape.

But this world obeys him. And he’s so tired of it all.

_Delete server?_

**_yes_ ** _| no_

Dream hesitates a little too long. Footsteps pound distantly on the outside of his cell; Chat is going crazy, with everyone currently spamming panicked messages and demanding to know what’s happening, how’d Dream get out, blah blah blah.

He’s almost touched that they care so much about his whereabouts. Except, y’know, it’s only to lock him up.

Despite himself, his mind drifts to the builds here, the community it's become. How distraught the citizens of L’manberg had been, every time it had been destroyed. How angry-sad-hollow George had become, upon learning that his house had burned down. How they all banded together to fight him, even if it had only been briefly, even if it hadn't even been worth it in the end.

_Delete server?_

_yes_ _|_ ** _no_**

_/ban Dream_

_Dream was kicked from the server_

The void whispers up, then roars into life around him. It drags him under, claims him, and he is lost - tumbling in the in-between and around and empty, all the breath driven from his lungs and he’s floating. He’s flying.

His knees hit grass; he gasps and sits up. A brief check with his Admin powers lets him know that he’s spawned on the next world over.

He stands up, dusts himself off, tries to breathe. His whole body is shaking and he doesn’t have his mask, doesn’t have anything at all. He’s alone and unfound and suddenly feels so very, very, small.

They’ll hunt him down, he knows. A manhunt, he thinks - ha. He glances up at a brilliant sky, feels his tremors slowly begin to subside, melt into a stillness that feels strangely like calm.

This is familiar. He knows what to do.

He gets up. He begins to walk. And then he starts to run.

He doesn’t stop running.

He doesn’t think he can, anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> the timeline is probably a little bit fucked up whoops it's fine pretend you didn't see anything hahaha
> 
> i have no idea if you're able to ban yourself from your own server bc i haven't played minecraft in a while, but just let me have my creative license thank
> 
> anyways, thanks for reading! i appreciate you all sm :D


End file.
